Exposed

I don't know the source of this picture. The caption some Facebook photo collector added says "this is what six decades of love looks like." Many of the commenters responded, "Aww, how cute," or "So romantic!" That is not what came to my mind.

I once was in the back of the church with some baby, and so I witnessed a couple who looked to be in their sixth decade of marriage as they hobbled in late. The old man was impeccably dressed as only a very old man can be, with a starched shirt collar standing up straighter than he could himself, his neck shrunken away so that his tie was knotted mostly around emptiness. All his power was concentrated on getting up the granite steps of the church -- and on enduring a constant stream of abuse from his wife, who toiled up behind him, muttering this litany toward the back of his head: "Selfish, selfish, never cared for me nor anyone, never a thought for anyone else, just go on your way, selfish, selfish, and you'll never change . . ."

And the expressions on their faces were exactly like the expressions on the faces of the old couple in the photo above. This man and wife I saw were bound together, in body and in soul -- not, apparently, in simple, loving cooperation, but like some hideous, decades-long three-legged race, where their union was nothing but pain and hindrance to each other. There are many kinds of devotion.

We hear a lot about young people heading into a marriage and seized with a sudden panic when they realize that they're binding themselves for a lifetime to someone they hardly know, hardly can know. What a risk! But what frightens me is not what I'm exposing myself to. What frightens me is that I will be exposed -- yes, even after fifteen years of marriage, at a point when my husband certainly knows me, and most certainly still loves me. Even after fifteen years, I'm afraid that for the next forty years, I will keep up a charade of being a good wife and mother, a decent person, someone who learns and improves throughout my life . . . until I am very old, and I no longer have the mental wherewithal to hide who I really am.

When my grandmother got Alzheimer's, she lost her words, she lost her good sense, she lost her ability to do anything. She even forgot how to swallow food. But one of the last things that lingered was her personality. She saw someone holding a peeled banana, and from the miscellaneous soup of vocabulary that her brain had become, there bobbed up a little expression of sympathy for the poor denuded fruit. "Poor thing!" she crooned. I showed up wearing jeans with a hole in the knee, and she followed me around, stooping and pawing at my leg, trying to piece the denim back together with her bare hands -- because that is what she did. She fixed things. She was fundamentally a sympathetic person, a healer, and this trait remained long after she was capable of actually being helpful.

What will come up to the surface when I'm no longer able to hide? This is the question that's been following me around this Lent, whispering in my ear like a malign old woman who knows me to the core and cannot stand what she knows. Selfish, selfish, and you'll never change.

I know this is not the voice of God. Yes, He knows us. Yes, He wants us to know ourselves. But on that long walk up the granite stairs, up to Golgatha, he does not come up behind, whispering, accusing, berating. He waits ahead, like a groom at the head of the church. Lent is like a little marriage, when we expose ourselves (hardly knowing what we are doing) to a largely unknown spouse. Every one of us walks up the aisle to the altar and lifts the veil to show our face to our beloved. And to our upturned face, He responds, "Thou art dust."

But that's only the beginning of Lent, just as a wedding is only the beginning of a marriage. Those forty days, those sixty years -- these are the hard uphill climb. The old couple's faces in the hospital are the faces of Good Friday, when who we are is exposed once and for all. On Good Friday, time has run out. The cross is in front of us, and we respond with everything that we are -- everything that we have become.

Comments

Nobody, I feel your agony in your short comment. I imagine I would feel the same. You don’t hate your husband—but you are angry, so angry, at what has been taken from you and what you both have to undergo. I think it’s understandable. But I also think that your grim determination to buckle down and do what has to be done is another face of love. Sometimes love comes easy. Sometimes it comes hard. But we give it, all the same, just as we long to have it given to us.
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It must be humbling to see yourself not the image of patience you might have liked to see. But on the other hand, you know now that you do have the grit to stay in when the going is tough. I hope—or rather *resolve*—to do the same when my own husband’s health fails, as it’s likely to do sooner or later. I hope I would be patient and upbeat too, but the fact is that only time and suffering are likely to give me those virtues.

Posted by Mary's girl in VA on Monday, Mar 11, 2013 5:25 AM (EDT):

beautiful! = the challenge this Lent, as every Lent, to conversion.

Posted by Matt B on Monday, Mar 11, 2013 12:43 AM (EDT):

I’m wondering why everything that Simcha writes about in this space comes true in my own life. When I first saw the photos in this header, they reminded me of no one in particular. Now after a few days, I’m seeing myself and my loved one; and the words of the story and comments I’m needing to own. I think this is very alarming. An internet columnist is defining the story line of my life. Can I ask you then, Ms. Fisher to start carrying a more upbeat theme? There are so many in my aquaintance who need hope and deliverance. These seem to follow in the train of your prose. Or am I equating sequence with cause?

Posted by magnus on Saturday, Mar 9, 2013 2:03 AM (EDT):

Excellent meditation. You’re at your best when you avoid the sarcasm.

Posted by Fr. Gerald on Friday, Mar 8, 2013 3:28 PM (EDT):

Dear Simcha,

Just recently have come across your pieces. You are a talented a gifted writer. Many thanks for this post.

Blessings,

Fr. Gerald

Posted by Kathleen on Friday, Mar 8, 2013 10:30 AM (EDT):

Nobody,
I think you need some rest,support & encouragement.
My husband passed away in his early 50’s. I’ve been there with the stress,grief,exhaustion, & day to day caregiving.You can become so isolated & worn out both physically & emotionally that your reactions can be unlike who you really are.
I don’t think in your heart you really feel quite the way your comments read.I’m still hearing much love through your dissapointment & darkness.Please find some support.
God bless.

Posted by Al Hurley on Friday, Mar 8, 2013 10:28 AM (EDT):

The juxtaposition of those pictures and your words speak loudly to generational differences. The renowned philosopher and psychologist Erik Erikson teaches us about the universal stages of growth and development all we human beings traverse as we go through life. Each stage has its unique contradictions and challenges. And the success we have in ensuing stages depends on how well we succeeded in the previous stages. Spirituality is evident in each of them. For instance, take love and knowing and accepting ourselves and each other Erikson is embraced by Catholic thinkers and theologians. His stages of growth and development are Christian paths to happiness according to our human nature.

Posted by Stine on Friday, Mar 8, 2013 9:58 AM (EDT):

For years, everyone in my family thought my grandfather was a quick-tempered, angry man, especially when dealing with my grandmother. After he died, we all found out what a demanding, manipulative handful my grandmother really was. He took the fall for her for fifty years, and protected every one of us from her behavior. Now, he’s gone, she’s sliding into dementia, and there’s nothing for her to hide behind. I seriously think about this all the time - who am I, really, and is my husband taking the fall for my character defects?

Thanks for this great article, at the perfect time. I will be first in line for reconciliation on Saturday!!

Posted by judy Peet on Friday, Mar 8, 2013 1:12 AM (EDT):

I see the love. It grabs my heart with an ache beyond words. What you saw, Simcha, was a snapshot in a relationship on the granite steps.For some of us, crabbing and complaining about our loved one is an unconscious defense mechanism to protect our hearts from the pain we feel as we see our loved one deteriorate. What should uplift us is not the words but the acts….the lifelong sacred commitment of two people in this age of easy divorce. Truth is, you can’t keep up the charade after a certain amount of time. To have your spouse follow you up the steps to the church knowing that maybe you really are “selfish, selfish ” , and yet still remain your spouse speaks volumes to me. Love is an act of will. Jesus tells us to love our enemy, and at times the most unlovable around us may be our spouse.Likewise, we all behave in unlovable ways. Its so easy in our society to leave a marriage. I must respectfully disagree. These pictures speak love to me, which St. Paul tells us is the greatest of all. The Cross….The Cross… at the end life it is the Cross that uplifts us and sustains us. Our pain at the end of life cannot compare to our Lords pain, yet it is his example that sustains us.

Posted by TeaPot562 on Friday, Mar 8, 2013 12:52 AM (EDT):

Fortunately for those of us with nasty inclinations, God is merciful.
But as the Our Father proclaims, we must forgive others.
TeaPot562

My grandmother was wonderful before and after Alzheimer’s. It made me think about what sort of snot I’d be if I couldn’t constantly hide what I’m really thinking. I agree with Beth and others that what matters is the self we try to be, more than the self we possibly can’t shake. But I think Simcha has hit something powerful here—that conversion isn’t a series of behaviors, but of internal turns toward God. We become virtuous by practicing virtue. I’m glad that I’ve had professional Catholics to help show me the importance of inner conversion instead of the mechanistic behaviors that I would have done so as to cover my bases with God.

Posted by Benchwarmer on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:52 PM (EDT):

Very powerful Simcha….very powerful indeed!!!

Posted by Anya on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:27 PM (EDT):

@Nobody, wow, what unflinching honesty, you are mourning what was and living with the daily reminders of all that has been lost. It must be very painful. I hope that in your daily prayers you express yourself as honestly to the Lord, for He is the one Person for Whom you never need put on a brave face, give Him all your anger, fear and regrets.

Posted by Corita on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:19 PM (EDT):

@Nobody-
I feel compelled to say: You are Beloved.

I hope someone says that to me, someday when I am in my misery as well. I know it is likely coming.

Posted by Colet on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:03 PM (EDT):

Oh, Simcha. I hope you never change.

Posted by The Doctress on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 10:45 PM (EDT):

Your choices belie the person you are or at least the one you aspire to be. It’s the fruit that tells the tree’s essence. That’s Christ, not me. I’m the sap!

Posted by Eileen on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 10:14 PM (EDT):

@Beth - of course you’re right. Please know that not all Alzheimer’s patients display their true selves. I’m in my late 40’s and many in my family and among my friends’ parents are coping with the illness. Dementia is a funny thing and like Kathleen said earlier, you never know how it will affect a personality - I know several women who were nothing short of nasty in their younger days who became much more likeable and compliant as their mental capacity waned. That said, even the nicest of people can become downright combative when their personal needs are being attended to if they don’t understand you’re trying to help them. Not too different from most two year olds.

Posted by Subsistent on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 10:06 PM (EDT):

I think “Beth” makes good points, and true. Senility may have exposed a “very mean” animal temperament, but the grandmother’s sustained deliberately chosen behavior for much of her adult life expressed the deep choice of her heart.

Posted by Beth on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 9:39 PM (EDT):

I realize that senility isn’t the point of the article but I feel compelled to comment on Alzheimer’s. Unfortunately it won’t be particularly clear, but I’ll try.

When my grandmother sunk into Alzheimer’s she became very mean. VERY mean. All of her life she was loving and had a great sense of humor. So, was she fundamentally a mean person? Does it matter? She spent the time that she had control of herself caring for people. During the time that she was in control she was good humored and a pleasure to be around.

Shouldn’t the person she chose to be, be the person that counts? If disease took away her ability to make choices, I don’t care if the basic personality that was exposed was mean. I care about the person she wanted to be.

Posted by Matt B on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 5:58 PM (EDT):

A little known biological fact which comes from the annals of torture and cruelty is that, in the last phases of a crucifixion death, the condemned man voids himself, being reduced to helplessness before the executioners pleasure. An ugly fact. But Calvary is full of ugly facts.

It’s ironic that our God chose this scenario to demonstrate the fullness of love. Surely something along the lines of a rose garden or nuptial bower would be more fitting.

I’ve been to a hospital or two. I’ve seen old married couples. I’ve been broken and disabled. Look into the glass, Snow White. Look into the Glass.

Posted by Matt B on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 5:21 PM (EDT):

Nobody, I’m with you girl. You’re forgiven.

Posted by Gina Nakagawa on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 5:14 PM (EDT):

Thank you, Simcha Fisher, just thank you.

Posted by TeaPot562 on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 4:57 PM (EDT):

Simcha,
I agree with many comments that this is one of your more powerful articles.
Brings to mind the biblical “As you sow, so shall you reap.”
Your dominant concept is that Alzheimer’s and similar mental deterioration of old age will expose our inner characters, w/o the filters we are used to employing to appear “nice”.
Thanks for the meditation.
TeaAPot562

Posted by Nobody on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 4:32 PM (EDT):

Well you asked ... I don’t have to wait for senescetude to be exposed; I ready am. My ironman-triathlete husband, at age 51, had a massive stroke due to an undetected birth defect that has left him crippled for life. Unable to walk or talk normally ever again. Yet, in its weirdness, the stroke left him with the ability to return to his job of computer programming (one-handed now) and because a life of poverty and ESPN did not appeal to him, he busted his remaining butt to return to the job. So here we are, living the same life in the same house with the same car (specially modified for crippled driving) ... and I am exposed as the selfish unsympathetic uncompassionate bioch I truly am. I hate the sound of that man’s stumping around through the house with his cane. I hate the vile speech impediment that makes every conversation take 10 times as long as it needs to take (on his side only). I can’t stand to look at the wreck that used to be my beloved. When he has a problem with his paralyzed foot, I have to fix it and it makes me want to vomit. I could go on for days. Yes, I am exposed and it is ugly. I am committed to doing the right thing by my vows and by the command of Christ, so if Christ’s words about “what you did for the least of these” are truly the guideline instead of “luv”, then all will be well in the end. But, oh, I regret.

Posted by LeeAnn Balbirona on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 4:24 PM (EDT):

This is one of your most powerful pieces of writing ever. Thank you.

Posted by RichardC on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 3:50 PM (EDT):

I am expecting the death panels to get me well before any of this forty years down the line business comes into play. Jesus said that today has enough problems of its own. That makes sense to me.

Posted by anna lisa on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 3:49 PM (EDT):

The two cells that precede the fertilized ovum are tiny specks of organic matter. Without this dazzling union (some secular scientists have theorized that it happens with a flash of light),—they will become dust. The mathematical possibility that we could *be* should shock us. Without any merit on our part, God in his extravagance of love, lavished something unspeakably beautiful upon us.
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When the veil is lifted, there will be cause for ecstasy. “Come my bride, my beloved, I have yearned for your love eternally…”
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The good angels were allowed to see his face, but not without the trial of a test.—And so it goes for the creatures that were brought forth from dust.
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I hope I learn not to drag my feet in the mud before I die.

Posted by Amber on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 3:40 PM (EDT):

“At the evening of life, you will be examined in love. Learn to love as God desires to be loved and abandon your own ways of acting.”
-St John of the Cross

[The eternal Father to Catherine:] “Do you know, daughter, who you are and who I am? If you know these two things you will have beatitude within your grasp. You are she who is not, and I AM HE WHO IS.” Raymond of Capua, Life of Catherine of Siena, 92

Posted by B Riggs on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 3:04 PM (EDT):

To Patricia, sometimes we do not need uplifting and inspiration. Sometimes we need a startling dose of reality. If someday I am reduced to “behavior patterns” I want them to be kind and loving. If I am not developing kindness and love now, they will not be at my core when other things are stripped away. Thank you Simcha for the reminder!

Posted by Patricia on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 2:48 PM (EDT):

Well, that was a downer of an article. Not uplifting at all. I didn’t find it hopeful. Change your paradigm; change your life.

Posted by Subsistent on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 2:32 PM (EDT):

Let’s be clear: “Thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return”, taken literalistically, is heretical, because it denies our spiritual soul’s immortality. Likewise, “the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden” (Gen. 3:8) would be heretical understood literalistically, because it would contradict the pure spirituality of God’s divine nature. Of course, the Church does NOT understand either of these Biblic assertions literalistically. I for one am glad the Ash Wednesday liturgy no longer says to the person getting ashes, “remember, man, thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return”, because taken out of context by a poorly catechized person, that assertion goes against the Church’s affirmation of the great dignity of every human person, who is a son or daughter of our Heavenly Father.

Posted by Matt B on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 2:22 PM (EDT):

I used to live in Brooklyn, close to the Orthodox communities. They are a wonder to behold. In particular, the mothers make clothes for their daughters out of the same bolt of material, and they parade like goslings through the dreary streets.

But in another day, jewish virgins were wildly extravagant creatures who delighted in luxurient dress, and collected all manner of personal adornment. They lived sequestered in their fathers house, but basically ruled it. A good picture of this is the daughters of Jethro in “The Ten Commandments.”

If you’ll allow me, life is looking forward to the bangles, and not backward to oblivion.

I felt really down this morning, but someone must have prayed for me because I feel much better, thank you.

Posted by Eileen on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 2:20 PM (EDT):

It’s not that I didn’t get Simcha’s point, I just disagreed with her imagery and the interpretation of the photos.

Posted by Jennifer on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 2:16 PM (EDT):

Wow, Simcha. Thank you.

Posted by Blake on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 2:13 PM (EDT):

Loved the article Sincha. Reminds me a bit of some sporatic reading I’ve done with John of the Cross, Mother Teresa etc. St. John and Mother Teresa talked of the “dark nights” when they doubted they would go to heaven, were worthy, they had done enough etc. With Alz. that and much more happens no doubt. In the end it’s our faith in God who is love that keeps our marriages together and leaves us with hope that we will be in paradise together and with Him. Thanks for your work.

Posted by Rosemarie Lewis on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 1:55 PM (EDT):

Thank you, Simcha, for the beauty of this piece and for your willingness to share it with us.

Posted by Therese on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 1:41 PM (EDT):

You have verbalized an observation I made years ago as a nurse in a nursing home. People’s basic personalities do not change. With the diminution of other faculties, the personality gets more visible. A kind, gentle loving geriatric patient was a kind, gentle loving person all her life - and the reverse.

Posted by Love in the Time of Cholera on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 1:16 PM (EDT):

Yes, “baring all” is what it takes.
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My husband and I used to go to an Italian restaurant that was like the town watering hole; it was like the extension on everyone’s dining room. Scattered between some avant garde art was a series of black and white photos of old Italian couples sharing tender, intimate moments. I asked my husband a few times, “will we be like that?” He would always assure me that this would be the case. I wasn’t sure.
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Now, ten plus years later I hardly doubt anymore because we learned how to be tender with each other; not just here and there, but every day.
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Forgiveness 700 multiplied times 700 is what it required.
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But that wouldn’t have happened without some direct, heavenly intervention of a startling nature..
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And THAT wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t been patient in asking for that grace, and willing to be stripped bare.

Posted by Simcha Fisher on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 1:06 PM (EDT):

Yes, Anita - thanks!

Posted by Anita on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 1:03 PM (EDT):

So powerful, Simcha…thank you for sharing.

I don’t want to speak for Simcha, but it is my understanding after having read this that’s she isn’t so much making a statement about old age, or Alzheimer’s or even the old couple in the picture.

She is using those to illustrate the bigger point: who we are REALLY….underneath it all….when we are stripped of our youthful strength, or rose coloured glasses of life….when it all comes down to our frail selves, who are we in the sight of God?

And the truth is, we ARE dust and to dust we shall return. We are reminded of this every Ash Wednesday. Yes, we are also the Bridegroom’s beloved, we know that, we know that God loves us immensely, unconditionally. That is not Simcha’s point.

Re-read this wise and profound reflection, and see the depth and truth found within.

Posted by Lizzie on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 12:56 PM (EDT):

Wow, this is EXACTLY what I have been pondering through Lent and recently in life. What will I be like in my last days - will I be a person who loves more than I do now? Am I willing to be exposed - to experience true intimacy with others by ‘baring all’ and counting the cost…Even harder, I find, is listening to the voice of love rather than the accusing voices of others. This Lent is about tuning into the voice of love as the only way to authentically grow in love and holiness.
God bless you and your incredible gift of expressing what is true and good.

Posted by Patti Day on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 12:55 PM (EDT):

If we don’t like who we are now, when presumably we are at the height of our physical beauty and mental acuity, it is unlikely we will later as time eventually diminishes both. This article is an excellent Lenten reflection.

Posted by Kathleen on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 12:20 PM (EDT):

Megan,
My great aunt was in her 90’s when I last visited her 30 yrs ago.Her memory had faded, too, to the point that she had no idea who I was but she still welcomed me & my baby into her home & graciously offered us hospitality.Fortunately she had a caregiver present. It’s scary to think she’d open her door to random strangers.

Posted by Megan on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 12:10 PM (EDT):

My own grandmother also suffered from dementia. Her legacy was of complete selflessness. When my Grandfather died and we descended on her house, all she could do was keep asking if we’d gotten enough to eat. She even apologized to me that she had not been able to go upstairs to put extra blankets on the beds! She had no idea who most of us were, no idea that we’d all taken care of the food and such…. she just assumed that as the lady of the house, she was in charge of the comfort of her guests.
Since then, I’ve often wondered would be the very last layer of me that would show it’s head if I, too, am stricken with that disease.
A very sobering and humbling thought.
And perfect for Lent.
Beautifully put, Simcha!

Posted by Matt B on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:55 AM (EDT):

‘He responds, “Thou art dust.”’

Gotta penalize you two points for that conclusion, although this piece is otherwise very poignant and true.

There’s a prayer card of the Blessed Mother that relates to your Jesus/groom image as well. It says, “If you knew how much I loved you, you would weep for joy.”

Posted by Eileen on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:53 AM (EDT):

Wow! This is some essay - Can’t say I agree with it - but you are one talented writer. I’m not talented enough to articulate a proper response, but here’s my feeble attempt.
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“Thou art dust” just means that all that’s physically beautiful in the wedding photo will fade away. But the soul remains, lives, and even thrives. Where you see years of bitterness, I see a wife leaning in so she can better understand that her husband wants his fuzzy blue socks, not his warm white ones.
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As my husband and I have entered middle age, we can see each others’ weaknesses and strengths so much more clearly than when we married two decades ago. Alzheimers is a cruel disease and I have seen it slowly take many people. I can easily picture which personality traits would linger in my husband and me and which would fade away. But that’s not what makes Alzheimer’s cruel. It’s not only losing all the memories of all that beautiful dust, but losing the memories and recognition of the sustaining eternal spirit.

Posted by Betsy on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:46 AM (EDT):

Thank you! I haven’t been privy to all the ravages of old age/alzheimer’s, but I do marvel at what little I know about its ability to strip a person down to their core. 2 women, both going through the downward spiral of old age. One was bitter about giving up control of anything and everything and made her opinions known even when they made no sense at all. The other, having cultivated a life-long devotion to the Lord and humility, lost everything but love. Even when she didn’t know anyone, she signed crosses on foreheads and felt comfort in prayers being said by her side. This was the fruit of their lives.

Posted by amy smith on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:45 AM (EDT):

This is really a wonderful Lenten reflection. Thank you.

Posted by Julie on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:44 AM (EDT):

Thank you for this. It was good for me to read today, when I’m annoyed at my husband for being annoyed at me for who-knows-what. It’s important to keep the long-view, isn’t it?

Posted by richard on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:34 AM (EDT):

My father died in 1992. My mother in 2007. My youngest brother took upon himself to take care of her all that time. It seems there will always be someone in the family circle to give of himself/herself unstintingly. As for me only God knows.

Posted by Kathleen on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:30 AM (EDT):

Well, I loved the photos but you never know about folks you just observe & don’t know personally. Our minds can play sad tricks through dementia.I’ve known friends who progressed through dementia in differing ways.The older lady you mention may well have been embittered-or her perception may have been distorted by disease.

Posted by Lisa on Thursday, Mar 7, 2013 11:24 AM (EDT):

Wow. This is…wow. Very insightful.

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